Charmides, and Other Poems

Oscar Wilde

Wilde’s Poems, a selection of which is given in this volume, were first published in volume form in 1881, and were reprinted four times before the end of 1882. A new Edition with additional poems, including Ravenna, The Sphinx, and The Ballad of Reading Goal, was first published (limited issues on hand-made paper and Japanese vellum) by Methuen & Co. in March 1908. A further Edition (making the seventh) with some omissions from the issue of 1908, but including two new poems, was published in September, 1909. Eighth Edition, November 1909. Ninth Edition, December 1909. Tenth Edition, December 1910. Eleventh Edition, December, 1911. Twelfth Edition, May, 1913.

A further selection of the poems, including The Ballad of Reading Gaol, is published uniform with this volume.

CHARMIDES

IHe was a Grecian lad, who coming home With pulpy figs and wine from SicilyStood at his galley’s prow, and let the foam Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously,And holding wave and wind in boy’s despitePeered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night.Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear Like a thin thread of gold against the sky,And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear, And bade the pilot head her lustilyAgainst the nor’west gale, and all day longHeld on his way, and marked the rowers’ time with measured song.And when the faint Corinthian hills were red Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay,And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head, And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray,And washed his limbs with oil, and from the holdBrought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,And a rich robe stained with the fishers’ juice Which of some swarthy trader he had boughtUpon the sunny quay at Syracuse, And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought,And by the questioning merchants made his wayUp through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring dayHad spun its tangled web of crimson cloud, Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feetCrept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd Of busy priests, and from some dark retreatWatched the young swains his frolic playmates bringThe firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd flingThe crackling salt upon the flame, or hang His studded crook against the temple wallTo Her who keeps away the ravenous fang Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall;And then the clear-voiced maidens ’gan to sing,And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,A beechen cup brimming with milky foam, A fair cloth wrought with cunning imageryOf hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the beeHad ceased from building, a black skin of oilMeet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked spoilStolen from Artemis that jealous maid To please Athena, and the dappled hideOf a tall stag who in some mountain glade Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried,And from the pillared precinct one by oneWent the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had done.And the old priest put out the waning fires Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowedFor ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres Came fainter on the wind, as down the roadIn joyous dance these country folk did pass,And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished brass.Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe, And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine,And the rose-petals falling from the wreath As the night breezes wandered through the shrine,And seemed to be in some entrancèd swoonTill through the open roof above the full and brimming moonFlooded with sheeny waves the marble floor, When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad,And flinging wide the cedar-carven door Beheld an awful image saffron-cladAnd armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glaredFrom the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flaredLike a red rod of flame, stony and steeled The Gorgon’s head its leaden eyeballs rolled,And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield, And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and coldIn passion impotent, while with blind gazeThe blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze.The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp Far out at sea off Sunium, or castThe net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blastDivide the folded curtains of the night,And knelt upon the little poop, and prayed in holy fright.And guilty lovers in their venery Forgat a little while their stolen sweets,Deeming they heard dread Dian’s bitter cry; And the grim watchmen on their lofty seatsRan to their shields in haste precipitate,Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet.For round the temple rolled the clang of arms, And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear,And the air quaked with dissonant alarums Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear,And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed,And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade.Ready for death with parted lips he stood, And well content at such a price to seeThat calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood, The marvel of that pitiless chastity,Ah! well content indeed, for never wightSince Troy’s young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight.Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh,And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair, And from his limbs he throw the cloak away;For whom would not such love make desperate?And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violateUndid the cuirass, and the crocus gown, And bared the breasts of polished ivory,Till from the waist the peplos falling down Left visible the secret mysteryWhich to no lover will Athena show,The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow.Those who have never known a lover’s sin Let them not read my ditty, it will beTo their dull ears so musicless and thin That they will have no joy of it, but yeTo whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile,Ye who have learned who Eros is, – O listen yet awhile.A little space he let his greedy eyes Rest on the burnished image, till mere sightHalf swooned for surfeit of such luxuries, And then his lips in hungering delightFed on her lips, and round the towered neckHe flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to check.Never I ween did lover hold such tryst, For all night long he murmured honeyed word,And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed Her pale and argent body undisturbed,And paddled with the polished throat, and pressedHis hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.It was as if Numidian javelins Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain,And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins In exquisite pulsation, and the painWas such sweet anguish that he never drewHis lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew.They who have never seen the daylight peer Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain,And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear And worshipped body risen, they for certainWill never know of what I try to sing,How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.The moon was girdled with a crystal rim, The sign which shipmen say is ominousOf wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim, And the low lightening east was tremulousWith the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn,Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn.Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan,And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed, And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ranLike a young fawn unto an olive woodWhich in a shady valley by the well-built city stood;And sought a little stream, which well he knew, For oftentimes with boyish careless shoutThe green and crested grebe he would pursue, Or snare in woven net the silver trout,And down amid the startled reeds he layPanting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day.On the green bank he lay, and let one hand Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly,And soon the breath of morning came and fanned His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonlyThe tangled curls from off his forehead, whileHe on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile.And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak With his long crook undid the wattled cotes,And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke Curled through the air across the ripening oats,And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayedAs through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed.And when the light-foot mower went afield Across the meadows laced with threaded dew,And the sheep bleated on the misty weald, And from its nest the waking corncrake flew,Some woodmen saw him lying by the streamAnd marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said, ‘It is young Hylas, that false runawayWho with a Naiad now would make his bed Forgetting Herakles,’ but others, ‘Nay,It is Narcissus, his own paramour,Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.’And when they nearer came a third one cried, ‘It is young Dionysos who has hidHis spear and fawnskin by the river side Weary of hunting with the Bassarid,And wise indeed were we away to fly:They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.’So turned they back, and feared to look behind, And told the timid swain how they had seenAmid the reeds some woodland god reclined, And no man dared to cross the open green,And on that day no olive-tree was slain,Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail Well slung upon his back, with leap and boundRaced on the other side, and stopped to hail, Hoping that he some comrade new had found,And gat no answer, and then half afraidPassed on his simple way, or down the still and silent gladeA little girl ran laughing from the farm, Not thinking of love’s secret mysteries,And when she saw the white and gleaming arm And all his manlihood, with longing eyesWhose passion mocked her sweet virginityWatched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily.Far off he heard the city’s hum and noise, And now and then the shriller laughter whereThe passionate purity of brown-limbed boys Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air,And now and then a little tinkling bellAs the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well.Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat, The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree,In sleek and oily coat the water-rat Breasting the little ripples manfullyMade for the wild-duck’s nest, from bough to boughHopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the slough.On the faint wind floated the silky seeds As the bright scythe swept through the waving grass,The ouzel-cock splashed circles in the reeds And flecked with silver whorls the forest’s glass,Which scarce had caught again its imageryEre from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly.But little care had he for any thing Though up and down the beech the squirrel played,And from the copse the linnet ’gan to sing To its brown mate its sweetest serenade;Ah! little care indeed, for he had seenThe breasts of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen.But when the herdsman called his straggling goats With whistling pipe across the rocky road,And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to bodeOf coming storm, and the belated cranePassed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rainFell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he rose, And from the gloomy forest went his wayPast sombre homestead and wet orchard-close, And came at last unto a little quay,And called his mates aboard, and took his seatOn the high poop, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping sheet,And steered across the bay, and when nine suns Passed down the long and laddered way of gold,And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons To the chaste stars their confessors, or toldTheir dearest secret to the downy mothThat will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging frothCame a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creakedAs though the lading of three argosies Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and shrieked,And darkness straightway stole across the deep,Sheathed was Orion’s sword, dread Mars himself fled down the steep,And the moon hid behind a tawny mask Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean’s margeRose the red plume, the huge and hornèd casque, The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe!And clad in bright and burnished panoplyAthena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea!To the dull sailors’ sight her loosened looks Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feetOnly the spume that floats on hidden rocks, And, marking how the rising waters beatAgainst the rolling ship, the pilot criedTo the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward sideBut he, the overbold adulterer, A dear profaner of great mysteries,An ardent amorous idolater, When he beheld those grand relentless eyesLaughed loud for joy, and crying out ‘I come’Leapt from the lofty poop into the chill and churning foam.Then fell from the high heaven one bright star, One dancer left the circling galaxy,And back to Athens on her clattering car In all the pride of venged divinityPale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank,And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank.And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen,And the old pilot bade the trembling crew Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seenClose to the stern a dim and giant form,And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm.And no man dared to speak of Charmides Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought,And when they reached the strait Symplegades They beached their galley on the shore, and soughtThe toll-gate of the city hastily,And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery.IIBut some good Triton-god had ruth, and bare The boy’s drowned body back to Grecian land,And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand;Some brought sweet spices from far Araby,And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby.And when he neared his old Athenian home, A mighty billow rose up suddenlyUpon whose oily back the clotted foam Lay diapered in some strange fantasy,And clasping him unto its glassy breastSwept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous quest!Now where Colonos leans unto the sea There lies a long and level stretch of lawn;The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee For it deserts Hymettus, and the FaunIs not afraid, for never through the dayComes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play.But often from the thorny labyrinth And tangled branches of the circling woodThe stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hoodOver his guilty gaze, and creeps away,Nor dares to wind his horn, or – else at the first break of dayThe Dryads come and throw the leathern ball Along the reedy shore, and circumventSome goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal For fear of bold Poseidon’s ravishment,And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes,Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should rise.On this side and on that a rocky cave, Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, standsSmooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands,As though it feared to be too soon forgotBy the green rush, its playfellow, – and yet, it is a spotSo small, that the inconstant butterfly Could steal the hoarded money from each flowerEre it was noon, and still not satisfy Its over-greedy love, – within an hourA sailor boy, were he but rude enowTo land and pluck a garland for his galley’s painted prow,Would almost leave the little meadow bare, For it knows nothing of great pageantry,Only a few narcissi here and there Stand separate in sweet austerity,Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars,And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars.Hither the billow brought him, and was glad Of such dear servitude, and where the landWas virgin of all waters laid the lad Upon the golden margent of the strand,And like a lingering lover oft returnedTo kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned,Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust, That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead,Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost Had withered up those lilies white and redWhich, while the boy would through the forest range,Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change.And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand, Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spiedThe boy’s pale body stretched upon the sand, And feared Poseidon’s treachery, and cried,And like bright sunbeams flitting through a gladeEach startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade.Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be So dread a thing to feel a sea-god’s armsCrushing her breasts in amorous tyranny, And longed to listen to those subtle charmsInsidious lovers weave when they would win

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